


I Am Not Home -- Mkhitaryan. After Revier Derby.

by Mavis111



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Derby, Football | Soccer, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mavis111/pseuds/Mavis111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the last derby game last month, Henrikh Mkhitaryan scored a goal and that was his only goal this season. And this short story was written by myself after that game.  <br/>Chinese vesion: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3652716</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Not Home -- Mkhitaryan. After Revier Derby.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a month ago in Chinese and I translated it into English. As I am a Chinese, there might be some mistakes in my story but I hope all of you can understand the meaning. Also, review and tell me the correct words please.   
> What's more, this is just a story based on a football match.

 

 

  1. Thank God.

“Did I just score a goal?” Henrikh Mkhitaryan had snatched the ball from player on the defensive side of Schalke 04 and then he shot, but he didn’t know if he scored a goal. He thought that the answer was really important for him and he wished he could goal as usual. Henrikh stared toward the goalmouth with hopefulness. 

His shirt was encrusted with dirt and light green grass but the player who was from Armenia was still staring at the goal. It seemed that he could hardly hear any voice. “I have scored a goal!” Henrikh gave himself the answer. He saw that the ball had hit against the doorpost, then it crossed the goal line. The waves in his heart ran high. Henrikh looked up at the blue sky. It was so peaceful and attractive today, and all the clouds there were so beautiful. All of these made his sorrow was charmed away. 

“Thank God!” He murmured in Armenian. 

The Rivier Derby, between Dortmund and Schalke, Henrikh Mkhitaryan had scored a goal for Dortmund. The score at that time was 2-0. 

A cheer rose from the south stand of Westfalen. Mkhitaryan stood up from the ground and looked over the Stadium with his abstruse eyes. He could clearly see that millions of fans were waving their flags with BVB logos. He also heard the loud outcry and they called his name HENRIKH MKHITARYAN. They shouted in German. The Armenian had never seen this kind of scene for a long time.

“Oh, that was my name!” He was too excited to speak when he realized that the fans, they were celebrating of his foal. 

Today, the Rivier Derby, in this football pitch, Mkhitaryan, he was the hero.

Mkhitaryan moved and let all the fans see how happy he was. He just wanted to prove the things he always wanted to prove. The man of the Armenia could be marred by injury but he would never complain anything. The man of Armenia could fail but he would never give up. The man of Armenia could be well-known for his beautiful and smart skills and he was so popular throughtout eastern Europe, also, he would certainly make Germans impressed by this young man. 

Marco Reus, Mats Hummels, Aubameyang… some of them came around and gave Henrikh who was a little shorter than them hugs. They were wheezing becaue they had run for a long distance and Mkhitaryan could hear that clearly. The smell of the sweat also invade his nose. He automatically swung his hair and then raised his head. There were millions of cameras taking photos of him. There were thousands of eyes were proving that Henrikh Mkhitaryan sad scored a goal.

Henrikh smiled and said to himself, “Thank God, I scored a goal!”

At that moment, it seemed that there were just his team and he in this wonderful land. And he judged the people. God chose him. 




 

 

  1. He is proud of you.

Mkhitaryan became calm after the match as usual and he walked back to the locker room. He sat on a chair and held his jersey with his hands. The shirt was a little dirty but his name and number was on it. 

Sweat soused him all over and he thought, “It is too hot here.”

“That was amazing!” Klopp came and said. Certainly, he said this without any dissatisfaction. He said it in German, Mkhitaryan could understand him although he was not good at German. He puckered his face in a smile and didn’t let Klopp see.

“It was a good chance and I was so lucky as well.” Henrikh looked Klopp and turned his head to look at Aubamayang. Aubamayang was taking photos with his teammates including Reus. He just answered shortly with respect.

More than 40 shots in half a season and only 1 goal. Henrikh always thought that was his fault and that he was not good enough. 

Klopp clapped him upon his shoulders. He could feel that Henrikh tried to hide himself but he didn’t make a sound. Then, Klopp smiled and said in his rough voice, “Henrikh, I am so proud of you!” He walked to Marco Reus to make sure he was alright. He still felt the sweat dripped from Mkhitaryan’s shoulders. He smiled gently and walked to Marco. 

The man in a light yellow shirt was sitting in the corner. It was Mkhitaryan. He packed his shin guards up and stood up. His shank was painful because of running. He looked around the room. The slogans were written in German so Mkhitaryan couldn’t understand them very well. The memories of Lucescu sprung up his mind when he saw Klopp checked Reus’ wound carefully before he called the team doctor. 

“You should be in a better club,” Lucescu told him when he left Shakhtar Donetsk and that was the last time he talked to Lucescu as his player, “Dortmund is a good team, though. You are a so excellent player. So you are pride of your family and our Shakhtar.”

Mkhitaryan feld sad as he thought about the past. They seemed to be happened yesterday to him. What Lucesku meant was that he was good enough to play in Barcelona or Real Madrid. Dortmund was unworthy of him somehow. “Was he right?” Mkhitaryan doubted himself. 

“Henrikh, are you ok?” Aubamayang gave him his phone and it was ringing. Mkhitaryan saw the incoming number: +374… “Oh it’s Mum!”

“Mum…” he spoke Armenian fluently. He had some talk with his parent and his mother congratulated him on his goal. It was just a moment, Henrikh’s nose twitched began to weep. His brown eyes turned to red. He heard the sentence his mother said:

“Your father must be so proud of you!”




 


End file.
